


Do As I Say, Not As I Do

by geenajay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, My first post - I'll be thrilled if anyone likes it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geenajay/pseuds/geenajay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at end of season 9/14 - just an alternative!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do As I Say, Not As I Do

DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO

Can you two.... get over it?” Kevin Tran’s ghost tried his best to get through to the brothers before he followed his mother up the stairs to leave the bunker for the very last time. “My mom’s taking home a ghost. You two, you’re both still here.”

Dean stood and watched him go while trying to bite back the tears that threatened once again to show in his eyes. He had cried so much for this kid already.

As the door shut, he turned, ready to talk to Sam, to try and explain why he had acted like he had, why, although Sam felt that it was a betrayal and a selfish one at that to trick him into saying yes to being possessed by that angel, he hadn’t meant it to be. That the simple truth was that he loved Sam so intensely that life without him would not have been worth him carrying on; that he could not have done as much and survived so much without his serious, geeky giant of a brother standing beside him. He had thought that he was doing the right thing, and had been left destroyed by both the consequence of the angel murdering Kevin, and by Sam’s disdain for him for having the gall to try and save his life yet again.

He was greeted by the sight of Sam’s back disappearing down the stairs. Dean bit back the smile that he had had ready to try and apologise, once again, and sighed. His brother accused him of only acting because he didn’t want to be alone, but Sam could never see, and Dean could never explain, just how lonely his whole life had been since their mother had died. Their father had decided that only revenge would ease his guilt for not being a good husband to his wife during her life and if that meant ignoring his eldest son’s emotional needs, dragging him from school to school so friends were either probable bait or non-existent, putting upon him as an unpaid, solitary nanny for his younger sibling for weeks at a time and training him, hard, to be an obedient soldier, then that was what he did. Dean still remembered his mother even though he had been so young at her death: he had wondered even before meeting her again when he had been sent back in time how she would have felt at the way he and his brother had been brought up. Even the younger version of his father had expressed disgust at bringing up children that way. But still he had done it. And the truth was that although Dean could always crack a witty response, always turn on that smile and charm his way into government buildings and the beds of his latest conquests with equal ease, he always came back to his room alone. He always had done.

Never mind, perhaps he would try again tomorrow. Perhaps Sam might be in a mood to listen then. Dean began to walk towards the steps to go to his room: he’d just turn his music up as loud as it would go in his headphones and try to forget everything, if only for a few hours.

A noise behind him made him stiffen his stance. He knew the room was empty apart from him: it should have been empty apart from him. Carefully he turned, his hand going up behind him to the gun he always carried in the back of his jeans. And stopped. And took an involuntary step back. 

Cain stood there watching him, his bearded face expressionless, his eyes as sharp and brooding as ever. Neither spoke for a moment. Then....

“How did you get in here?” Dean breathed the words in disbelief. “This place is warded tighter than....” 

“Please.” The sneering tone, the disdain in the deep voice. The words ‘First Demon’ suddenly ran through Dean’s head, immediately followed by ‘Knight of Hell – the First Knight of Hell’. He took a deep breath in, trying to control a sudden panic in his gut as Cain, The Cain, stepped forward. Dean flinched involuntarily: the last time the two had met he had been ready and was in his Hunter mode. Now, after the day he had had, and for the other to appear so suddenly and disquietingly on his home turf, he felt off balance. And although he hated to admit it even to himself, more than a little scared.

Cain snorted, knowing the effect he was having on Dean. “We’ll soon knock that out of you.” Dean gawped as the other man simply walked past him and moved to go down the stairs, then looked round as he ordered Dean to follow. “Come on then.”

“Wait. What?” Dean almost stumbled as he instinctively obeyed his great, great...who-knows how many-greats!...uncle or grandfather – he knew their blood line came from Cain and Abel, he remembered being told that, but he wasn’t quite sure of the details. “What are you doing?” He had caught Cain up, unnerved to find him approaching Dean’s room as if with previous knowledge of where it was in the Bunker.

Cain paused at the doorway. “I’m not doing anything. You are. You’re packing.”

“I’m....what?”

“Now!” The tone was again an order. Cain’s stern eyes bored into Deans slightly dazed ones. “Get what you need and hurry. You won’t be coming back here.”

“But....” His objections were cut off when Cain simply walked into his room and began to turn the drawers out onto the made bed. 

“We have to start your training, make you able to control the Mark before it manages to get control of you. You’ve already wasted far too much time already..... Have you a bag?” He already had Dean’s few clothes in a pile ready. The younger man hastened to obey, hauling his old and trusted travel bag out from under the bed. Mechanically he began to take the items and fold them into the bag while his befuddled brain tried to make sense of the other man's words.

“What do you mean, it manages to get control......?” he turned to see Cain’s thick eyebrows draw together as he looked at him. And waited. Dean’s brain went into frantic overdrive, what could that mean? And then, almost physically the words hit him. ‘Demon. The First One, The First Knight of Hell, trainer and leader of all the others. Demon.’ He stared at Cain in horror as the realisation all but paralysed him. “What have I done?”

“What you had to, son. What you had to.” Dean almost could have sworn that Cain’s voice had a touch of regret in it. He gasped and returned to the bag on the bed while he groped for words, any words!

“I did it to stop Abaddon. To stop Metatron! I did it....because I couldn’t do anything else.... I...” Dean took a breath, clamped down the panic inside, steadied his nerves, calmed his expression, returned to Hunter mode. He looked around his room, the only one he had ever really had of his own since he was four years old. Was there anything else he needed? The items on the wall were just decoration, objects he had scavenged from the collection in the bunker. As were the books. Well, except for the porn which he grabbed and stuffed in the bag, along with the only four photos of his family that he had ever possessed. Nothing else in the room was his that mattered.

He did the bag up and felt in his pocket for the keys to the Impala. 

“You won’t need those either.”

Dean almost felt faint, this whole day had been too much and this was the last straw. “That car is too much of a beacon. You’ll have no need of it and we have a lot of work to do. You have a lot of work to do.”

Dean breathed to try and continue the impression of being in control. “I’ll need stuff from it – weapons.....”

His words were cut off as Cain produced the First Blade and handed it to him. Dean found himself reluctant to take it, the memory of the surge of....desire to do such violence when he held it reared into his head. To stall from taking it, he asked quietly “Crowley took that from me. How did you....?” Again his words faltered as he looked across at the other man. The thick eyebrows, the heavy beard, but Cain’s eyes shone with something that Dean couldn’t quite categorize: mischief, malevolence, insanity? He wasn’t quite sure.

Cain chuckled drily. “Do you think He could stop Me? Or stop You once you’re trained? Take the Blade, it wants you to. And leave the keys. Got everything?” He glanced around the room, his eyes missing nothing. 

Dean still wavered momentarily. “I have to kill Abaddon. And Metatron. And Crowley! Otherwise this is....” he trailed off, unable to add the words ‘this would be all for nothing, I’m giving myself to Hell, again, for nothing’ out loud. He started back as Cain lent forward and peered intently into his face.

“I promise you. You will get your chance to kill them. Now!....” He took the blade and pressed the handle into Dean’s right hand. The Mark on his arm flared to red, showing clearly through his layers of shirts then subsided. Dean could have sworn he felt it hum as he stowed the blade beside his gun in the back of his jeans. He glanced down the car keys in his hand and placed them regretfully on the bed. He took a deep breath, picked up the bag with his few possessions in, steadied his voice and turned to the other man.

“Okay.”

Cain relaxed: his eyes twinkled, he almost smiled as he clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

And then they were gone.

* * * * * * *

 

It took Sam until lunchtime the next day to realize Dean wasn’t there.

He had gotten up, gone for his run, put some coffee on, had breakfast, read the papers, checked the internet, looked at some books, wondered how long his big brother was going to sleep, made two sandwiches and some more coffee, and sat and waited.

Then he had wondered.

Then eventually he had knocked at Dean’s door.

Then he had opened it carefully, slightly apprehensive about what position he might find his exhausted brother in that might have caused him to fall asleep for so long.

Then he had seen the still made-up bed and no Dean.

He hadn’t panicked, he’d checked the drawers and seen the few bits of clothing that Dean owned were missing, but he hadn’t worried for a moment.

Not until he’d seen the keys to the Impala on the bed.

Not until he remembered that he himself had unlocked the door from the inside to leave the bunker that morning.

Not until then.

Sam raced around the bunker shouting for Dean in case there was an explanation, any explanation. He stood in the main area and ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. Where was the last place he had seen his brother?

Here. As he had turned his back on him and walked away.

The cameras!

Sam suddenly remembered them: the Men of Letters had left a basic, probably state of the art for the 1950s but basic now, closed circuit TV system that just monitored the main area of the bunker. Sam had asked Charlie to upgrade it for him and Dean just in case. He hurried now to his laptop to check the footage.

It didn’t take long to find. There was himself and Dean standing in the area at the base of the steps, and Kevin Tran’s mother and a white, washed out blob of image that could only have been Kevin’s ghost going up the stairs and exiting, shutting the door behind them. Then himself hurrying to escape his brother. Dean turning around, with a smile and an outstretched hand, his face falling when he realised that he was once again alone. And then, who or what the hell was that?

Sam started at the tall figure with the bushy beard eyebrows and beard that had suddenly appeared behind Dean as he moved to leave the room; the figure was solid, not affecting the camera in any way, not a ghost then. Sam stared at the figure in consternation, he didn’t know who it could be, but he didn’t miss the sudden step away and momentary fear that flashed across Dean’s face when he turned around. Dean knew who this was, and if Dean was afraid then Sam was very afraid. Who could this be? But then why was he walking across to Dean and past him as if leading the way? Even Dean looked surprised about that. Sam watched his brother hurry to follow and then they were both out of view. Sam checked the entire rest of the recording, but neither the mysterious stranger nor his brother returned to that area nor went out of the bunker by the only door into it.

He needed help. He needed someone who knew who this was. He copied off a print of the stranger’s face and called the only being that he knew might know immediately, even though it was against his better judgement. He went outside to await his arrival. 

When Crowley arrived, Sam stared at him: the demon was dishevelled, his immaculate suit no longer immaculate, deep bruises still deepening on his face, a face that normally healed within moments. He looked.... well, he looked afraid.

“You said someone was here and now Dean’s gone?” No light banter today. “Where’s the picture?”

Sam handed it over wordlessly and watched as Crowley almost wobbled on his feet. He swallowed nervously and handed the print back to Sam, but refused to meet his eyes. “It’s Cain.”

Sam blinked. “The Cain? The same one who gave Dean that Mark on his arm? That Cain?”

“Yes!” The word was almost spat at him. “That Cain! And....!”

“What?” Sam was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

“Cain came and took the Blade off me. Rather, he insisted!” Finally Crowley looked up and met Sam’s eyes. “Looks like he’s decided he doesn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore; he wants to come and join the game.”

“But.....but....why take Dean?” Sam felt the pit of his stomach turn to ice. “Surely Cain, Cain, is powerful anyway....”

Crowley sighed, “Cain now has Dean to play with. Your big brother has the Mark, he now has the Blade, as well as around forty years of experience in Hell, one year surviving Purgatory which is no mean feat in itself as he was probably the only being in there that actually could have died and stayed dead, and a hell of a reputation in Hunting. He is also a direct descendant of the man himself, and no one should know better than you what family means to him. Talk about a perfect specimen to work on!” Crowley hesitated, then continued almost to himself. “I’m starting to think that my great plan for ridding myself of Abaddon might be one that I going to regret. Bigtime.” He paused momentarily.

“Bugger.”

He looked up at Sam who’s eyes were now wide and afraid. Then they blinked and the demon took a sharp intake of breath at the anger in them. Sam almost, Almost rivalled his brother for a moment. Then Sam spoke, his voice cold and controlled: “This is your fault Crowley. And you are going to help me find Dean and fix this. Do you understand me? No matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do. I am not losing my brother!”


End file.
